[A poem drawn from words and phrases in this essay, in the New Yorker.]


Survival Condo Project

I will arise and go now, and go to Wichita.
I keep a copter ready, gassed up all the time.
For to think ad infinitum is to think dystopia:
Quake on the fault, pandemic, dirty bomb.

And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from silo walls to where the bitcoin rings;
There the prairie’s all aglimmer on the live video
And evening full of taped birds’ wings.

I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear disaster slapping with loud sounds on the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,
I hear it in the deep heart’s core.

Trackback URL for this post:

3 Responses to “A Magazine Poem.”

  1. dmf Says:



  2. Margaret Soltan Says:

    dmf: thanks.

  3. dmf Says:

    thank you UD good to have these breaks from the downward swirl, here’s an entertaining bit of Trumpiana tale spinning:

Comment on this Entry

Latest UD posts at IHE